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Florida State University Libraries Electronic Theses, Treatises and Dissertations The Graduate School 2009 The Lost Neighborhoods of Newest York Carroll Varner IV Follow this and additional works at the FSU Digital Library. For more information, please contact [email protected] THE FLORIDA STATE UNIVERSITY COLLEGE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES THE LOST NEIGHBORHOODS OF NEWEST YORK By CARROLL VARNER IV A Thesis submitted to the Department of English in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts Degree Awarded: Fall Semester, 2009 The members of the committee approve the thesis of Carroll Varner IV defended on September 28, 2009 . __________________________________ Robert Olen Butler Professor Directing Thesis __________________________________ Diane Roberts Committee Member __________________________________ S.E. Gontarski Committee Member __________________________________ Kathleen, Yancey Chair, English Department The Graduate School has verified and approved the above-named committee members. ii TABLE OF CONTENTS Abstract ...................................................................................... iv 1. .................................................................................................... 1 2. .................................................................................................... 11 3. .................................................................................................... 18 4. .................................................................................................... 25 5. .................................................................................................... 35 6. .................................................................................................... 48 7. .................................................................................................... 55 8. .................................................................................................... 63 9. .................................................................................................... 74 10. .................................................................................................... 86 11. .................................................................................................... 95 12. .................................................................................................... 104 13. .................................................................................................... 117 14. .................................................................................................... 126 15. .................................................................................................... 136 16. .................................................................................................... 144 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH...................................................................... 146 iii ABSTRACT This thesis is a novel. It is the story of Frank, a pickpocket who moonlights as a children’s magician. He falls in love with Nasya who is a volunteer at a hospice for children with horrible and strange diseases. The book follows their relationships as well as the people around them and the city in which they live. iv CHAPTER 1 No one ever noticed Frank. You could be staring at him for hours and never notice him. He had become so good at being invisible, his own mother would have had trouble describing him to a police officer. Brownish eyes, brownish hair. Tallish, but not really tall. As thin as one can be without being fat. The truth was, Frank looked like whatever he was wearing. In the the darkened reflection of the subway glass, he avoided looking at the portly bald accountant standing near the sliding doors. All he needed was a quick glance to tell him that the bald man in the dark suit kept his wallet in his front inside pocket. The telltale bulge was virtually invisible beneath his suit coat but Frank knew it was there. He could tell by his posture and by his girth. Bigger men were less likely to keep their wallets in their pants. Their large thighs made it difficult to pull out their billfolds while sitting down. This man, Frank determined, was a man who made great efforts not to appear foolish. This was a man who would never stand up to pay the bill at a restaurant when dining with colleagues. This was a man who took great pains to avoid embarrassment. All this Frank could tell by the way he squeezed the pole next to him and obsessively watched the blinking light of the approaching station on the display above him. Frank walked stiff legged to join the man at the door, feigning an unfamiliarity with the movement of the train, and struggled with a large black case he pulled behind him, a copy of yesterday’s Post under one arm. The portly bald man avoided eye contact. Frank grabbed hold of the support pole and let his hand touch that of the bald man’s. The portly bald man flinched and quickly moved his hand down several inches. Frank watched the back of the man’s neck redden. At the next the stop, the bald man was forced to push up against Frank as the other commuters left and entered the car. The bald man kept his eyes looking upward, avoiding the faces of the people brushing past him, but mostly that of Frank. For his part Frank appeared to ignore the bald man’s discomfort and was attempting to read his newspaper despite the crush. But behind the shield of the day old Post, Frank’s quick fingers were busy removing the contents of the bald man’s wallet. When the doors closed, the wallet was back in the bald man’s inner pocket, and Frank’s newspaper had been folded and returned to the nook under his arm. The bald man exited at 66th street, Frank at 79th. Later that day, the portly man would remove his wallet to buy a sausage roll at a corner pizzeria. Instead of the three twenty dollar bill he had placed there that morning he found an off-white business card. It read: F.T. World’s Greatest Pickpocket None of his credit cards had been taken, nor had his license. Only the money. He did not notice that the photographs of his ex-wife and children were also missing. And he did not remember the young man in the subway. 1 1.2 The week before, Nasya had bought a bag of cherries from the corner fruit vender. This morning she had found them covered with gray mold and had to throw them away. She never had a chance to taste them. It was still on her mind as she lay with the Good Doctor, intwined on their wide bed, and covered by a single white sheet. The windows were open despite the weather, and the sounds of late afternoon traffic drifted up from the street twelve stories below. The Good Doctor’s wiped his brow with the corner of the sheet. His movement exposed Nasya's bare right shoulder. Shivering, she curled herself into a ball and pulled the thin cotton sheet up to her chin. Her dark hair lay in damp curls across the white pillow, framing her soft features. She was much younger than him. The Good Doctor was 47 years old but could look 37 on a good day. Still much older than the 24-year-old girl beside him. He lay on his back with his specially crafted prosthetic arm wrapped around her shoulders. His other prosthetic arm scratched the day’s growth of stubble on his chin. His two prosthetic legs were still beneath the sheets. These were his lovemaking extremities. He had designed them himself to be especially pleasing for when he was entertaining women. His hands were a special synthetic plastic with a slick rubber coating. The legs he designed with a reversible knee to allow him a wide selection of angles and positions to choose from. “How was it?” he asked, as he often did. Nasya nestled closer into his arms and ignored the question. But the Good Doctor was persistent. “Amazing,” she answered. “Really? I thought the hydraulic piston was a little off.” The Good Doctor sat up and pulled the cover away revealing the prosthetic that he was most proud of. He had molded it from a cast created using Nasya’s own body. After months of study he had built this prototype device specifically to give Nasya maximum pleasure. He designed it with several secondary functions to provide extra stimulation. It could vibrate, pulse, revolve, and even simulate ejaculation. He also painted it lavender because it was Nasya’s favorite color. It gave him great satisfaction to know that no one could ever pleasure Nasya the way he could, and that it could be proven mathematically. The Good Doctor considered it his greatest creation, the pinnacle of prosthetic science. But being the kind of man he was, he would never be satisfied. He was certain the design could be improved upon. So at the end of every act of intimacy he would inevitably subject Nasya to a mild interrogation. “What did you like? What didn’t you like?” he always asked. The longer Nasya resisted his questions the more he would pester her. If she did not feel like giving numerical ratings to her orgasms, it was easier to give in. “Well, maybe the vibrations were a little much.” The Good Doctor was surprised. “You didn’t like the vibrations?” 2 “No, I did, they just felt a little out of place. They were a little too much.” The Good Doctor left the bed and walked over to his workbench. Nasya fell back on the bed in frustration. But the Good Doctor was oblivious and had removed his lovemaking hands and replaced them with his tinkering hands. “Maybe if I replace the augmenter rotor,” he muttered to himself. Nasya began to dress. Her clothes were folded on the table

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